


Scintillae

by angeredthoughts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Derek Has Issues, Fire, M/M, POV Stiles, Pack Feels, Stiles Feels, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeredthoughts/pseuds/angeredthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spark can change an entire world; bring it down and build it up. This one though, seemed to end it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scintillae

The flames licked into the sky, mocking the snow that fell and he’s wrapped in a blanket, unable to think, unable to move. The fire department desperately try to put out the flames that reach cruelly to the other houses, the ones evacuated. He cannot think beyond the fact his father had just… disappeared. He’s not injured, just some smoke inhalation, but his father… He had been asleep, the promise of Christmas morning whispering in his dreams when he was ripped upright and pushed. He hadn’t even been awake as his father snapped at him to just move Stiles, get out! He had not even felt the flames until he turned to his father. He had been shoved once more, just as the second floor fell, smashing and crushing and his father was gone.

Snow fell, the wind bit into his skin and the irrational though filled his mind: How was it snowing when it was so damn hot? He sits there as they rush around, trying to put out the fire and he looks around, feeling numb and dull, like a butter knife trying to cut through wood. He’s not that far from Scott’s house, even Derek’s is close by, but no one is there. His phone, his books, his life… it’s all burning and he is just sitting there with an itchy wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders as the snow falls. He kind of wanted to take on the Alpha Pack again, thanks.

He’s not sure when he ended up in the hospital, but he’s answering questions and confused. The tree had caught fire, a small sliver of a wire sparking and everything was gone. He thought it was oddly funny and then he was waking up alone with a beeping noise. There was no denying the shock that flooded his system, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to undo it. He got dressed and left, leaving behind pitying looks and the flow of tears from those who had known his father. His jeep is there and he sees his father’s deputy, the new Sheriff, and he knows how it got there. He thanks him dully and climbs into the jeep, driving without thinking, straight to the pack. He needs them and he is sure they can help. But… he is met with hostile glares and a furious Alpha slamming him into the wall.

“Where the hell were you, Stiles?” Derek snarled in his face and he’s dully staring at him, not understanding and kind of in pain.

“Stiles, man, we needed you,” he hears and his head turns towards Scott, who is kneeling over a heavily injured Isaac and confusion fills his face.

“There was a rogue harpy and it attacked,” comes Lydia’s calm voice, full of judgement, as if it is his fault.

It occurs to him there was a reason why they weren’t there for him, but he cannot think past the bubbling fury in his gut; because while they had needed his awesome research skills, he had simply needed them. He turns his head back to the furious red eyes of the Alpha before him and brings his knee rapidly into his groin. The shock of his sudden attack forces Derek to release him but the months of training kick in and he’s bringing his fist down on the back of his neck, forcing him to collapse completely. He’s seething as he lifts his head to the pack before he turns and leaves. There is a chorus of yells behind him but he doesn’t care. He needed them and they can’t take four seconds to see his agony.

He never makes it to his jeep before he is pinned to a tree, Derek having recovered while he stormed away. He’s snarling in his face and the only thing that comes to mind is, “Get a fucking mint, you smell like blood and stupid.”

Abruptly, he is released and they are all looking at him. They are finally noticing. There are scorch marks from the falling fragments of burning wood. His face, he knows, his still covered in soot and tear streaked. Derek looks at him with growing horror and he can’t, he simply cannot, so he does what he does, he speaks, “So, yeah, the house, kind of gone and the fire was still burning last I checked, so my phone was on my desk, with my laptop and my books, those books, my life, and you know, my dad. So, I was released and I came here to you know, find comfort, be with friends, and I get yelled at for something beyond my control, judged like… like something that gets judged and just, fuck you all. Seriously, fuck you all,” he says, anger coiling around his heart, shielding him from the pain. He turned his head towards them all and his words come out dark and bitter, “I am always here, I am always trying to help and you just… you expect me to be sitting by my phone waiting for you to call me, waiting for you to need me and fuck you all. Just… take it up the ass, or something extra painful, because I am not a fucking lap dog waiting for a master to do tricks and entertain,” his sharply coloured eyed land on Derek and he cannot help but feel more anger with a tingling of desire, “You… you can take your pack and do whatever the hell you want. Fuck… I have… you could smell it!” he snaps before shaking off the hands that reach for him, “Just… no. No, I quit, I’m out.”

It sort of hurts that they let him go, but he’s just a researcher… they don’t really need him, right?

* * *

 

The funeral is more depressing then he thought possible. He had known, vaguely, there would be a day when his father would be buried, but he never expected it to be a closed coffin experience and he never expected his father to have next to no grey hair. There had been the notion that perhaps his father would’ve been there when he finished college, been there to talk him through his first day at whatever job he ended up at. But that was not happening, because they are all standing in the rain and he is silent as they lower him down into the grave beside his mother’s.

A crack of thunder follows a flash of lightning and he lifts his head to find himself standing there alone. He moves forward and presses his fingers against the new stone and looks over at the older stone of his mother’s grave. There is no escaping what has happened now. He doesn’t have any other relatives and his parents are gone. He wonders what is going to happen to him now, since he isn’t even eighteen yet. There is still a few months left until his birthday and he cannot bring himself to care. Who will he celebrate with? There is no one now and as the rain continues to fall in buckets over his head, he never felt so lost and alone. There had always been someone there and now, he is standing alone over two graves wondering where to go now.

Eventually the rain freezes to snow and he’s forced to leave. He heads to his jeep and comes to a stop when he sees a pile of flowers on the hood. Tilting his head, he moves forward and lifts them into his arms. There is a card but it has long since been ruined. It is impossible to decide how he feels about the flowers and some part of him is tittering over the idea of someone treating him like a girl. Shaking his head, he sets them in the jeep and drives to the house. The damage is immense, but it is already being worked on. He decided not to have a second floor, since he will be the only one there. It is quickly coming along, with a special sprinkler system to soothe his fears.

It’s the New Year when the house is finished. There is a lingering scent of smoke that fills his head everyday but he just opened the windows, letting the renewed winter air into his home. He doesn’t bother with the heat, padding around in slippers and his new robe. Since there is only one floor now, his room is tiny, but he just lives in the living room. He is grateful, of course he is, for the work done but he wishes that he still had some of his old things. With a tremendous sigh, he looks down at the papers that declare him a free man. It was easier for the courts to decide to let him live on his own rather then saddle him with someone who only needed to care about him for a few months. It had also been ridiculously easy for him to crack open his college fund to pay for everything, allowing him to wallow alone for much longer.

One day, sitting in his new chair, watching the news, the door bell rings. Rising to his feet, he opens the door without looking, thinking perhaps it is his neighbour with more cobbler. It isn’t. Instead he is looking into the eyes of Scott and his gaze flickers over, seeing Allison standing there as well. Both of them look worn and tired, as if they had forgone sleep for as long as possible then were violently awoken moments after falling asleep. He blinks at them, very confused as to why they are there and resentful that apparently his once best friend needs someone to hold his hand as he comes to see him.

“Can we come in?”

“Why?”

“We just… we want to talk… please…”

“I don’t really see why you have to come in to speak. It is entirely possible to do so here,” he complains bitterly but he leaves the door open and stalks into the kitchen to get himself another cup of coffee.

Scott follows of course, and Allison is with him. They watch him as he sits down to drink his coffee, uncaring for the way she shivers in the cold. He lifts his head and suddenly Scott is there, his arms wrapped around him. Freezing in confusion, he looks over and then Allison is there as well and they are blabbering apologies. It is hard to understand but then they are sitting across from him and he’s stuck staring at them.

“Why are you here?” he asks, because the silence, it isn’t really appreciated.

“We had to, we couldn’t just let you… leave… or something,” says Allison, her soft features tired for reasons he didn’t understand.

“The others would’ve come as well, Stiles, but we’ve had… issues,” explains Scott, rubbing his face.

And… he can’t. He can’t hate them, because he knows out of all his anger and grief, he had given them the impression he was impervious to the dangers of normal life. He had been threatened and beaten so many times by the creatures they all stood against, and he had never folded against them. It was hard to imagine him dealing with something as… natural… as a fire. For as unnatural as it was, it wasn’t supernatural and that is the twist, the deliciously poisoned twist, because he can deal with the supernatural; the unnatural, the normal, the devastation that can come from something that no being caused… that struck him upside the head and left him last in the snow.

“Well, you let me leave and then you stayed away and now you’re here, and I suppose there is something you need my help with, but I lack a laptop, I lack my books and…” he trails off as they look down at the table and he realizes there is something, but they are… ashamed? Confusion fills him more and he hates it. He leans forward, “What is it?”

“It’s Derek,” Allison says like she’s trying to be gentle, but it is still a slap across the face and he looks at them confused. They are all aware of his attraction to the man, but he knows he hates him or something like that. It was a little strange…

“He is being an idiot,” states Scott, as if he stating the weather and yeah, it sort of like it is, because, hello, Derek is often an idiot.

It’s strange that they are nervous and he taps his fingers impatiently against the table. He is still a little miffed at how uncaring they had been, but he knows he can forgive them, because they are all he has. Now he has to wait for whatever it is they want to say come spilling out of their lips and it is rapidly becoming more annoying then he wants to admit. They’re looking at each other, as if trying to prod each other to say something before Allison just flat out glares at him and Scott is turning towards him with a guiltily hopeful expression on his face.

“Derek… he uhm,” Scott pauses and it’s all Stiles can do not to throw the last of his precious coffee into his face. Scott sees his look and speaks, words tumbling out of his mouth as though they were held back by a flimsy dam that suddenly broke, “Derek scented you as his mate, but he never did anything about it. There has to be at least some touching to help, which is why, you know, Allison and I always touch and the others… but Derek… you left and Derek is being a martyr by refusing to tell you but… we all knew, you know? He didn’t… the idea of forcing you into a relationship you didn’t want was terrifying to him, but no one got to tell you and we were idiots, expecting you to just, be there for us when no one was there for you.”

Stiles is confused still, not understanding why they are there telling him all of this. He gets up and gets more coffee, this time politely offering some to them, which they decline politely before he sits down again. His nose hangs over the edge of the cup as he thinks slowly about what he is being told, because he can see that they are very reluctant to tell him the rest of the story. Tapping his finger impatiently, he makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and goes to his bathroom, stripping down because now he feels gross and sweaty and he realizes he has been moping around in the same clothing for three days. The water is refreshing and soothing, calming his frantic mind as he goes over the bits he can remember from his books before stepping out of the hot water and getting himself dried off. Clothing is next, along with a shave because he cannot pull off stubble, not even a little.

Going back to the kitchen, he sees they are nervous and he knows there is a tiny piece missing. He knows mates are important, they provide werewolves with a sure fire anchor to prevent some serious damage. Mates also help them remember to be human once in awhile, even in the face of danger, so they remember other people and why they are who they are. But there is something missing and he looks at them both. Allison’s hand is resting on Scott’s neck; it triggers a small memory. A tiny forgotten one because it was nothing and fixed so quickly. Scott shaking in bed with a fever, supposedly impossible for such a being, because Allison had been grounded and it had been spring break. He lifts his head, eyes wide as he stares at them.

“He’s dying.”

It’s a statement. Not a question. It’s a fact of truth, as simple to say as ‘the grass is green’ or ‘Scott’s a werewolf.’ Yet it is as though someone has reached into his soul, grabbed the last remaining bits of his strength and smashed it to nothing. He’s sort of aware of falling back into the wall and of the panicked cries of his friends. It is mostly disbelief that this is happening that causes him to fall back. Derek always seemed like a man who would take what he desired without thought of the consequences, his pack being a prime example. To learn that he would sooner fall victim to death instead of just taking him, boggled his mind.

Taking a moment, he thought back to when he realized he liked Derek…

* * *

 

_Cringing as his back connected with the ground, he looked around, dazed, as the pack rushed around and over him. He can hear the air whistling as Allison’s razor edged arrows slice through it and he can smell the sickly sweet scent that seemed to accompany Lydia as she demonstrated her fury. The ground trembles beneath him as the pack charges then he can hear nothing but their snarls and the tearing of flesh. It seems to be over as fast as it begins, but he is sore and unable to move._

_Lifted into someone’s arms, he lets his eyes close before he is placed, almost delicately, onto something soft and comforting. It takes a few minutes for him to realize it is a bed and he is looking into the red eyes of Derek as he checks him over carefully. There are no broken bones, but he has many, many cuts that need to be dealt with. Apparently Derek has realized this and soon he is shivering in the cold night air. Left in only his boxers, he watches the man leave and return with the first aid kit. One by one his cuts are closed and bandaged. Step by step he watches as worry clouds the Alpha’s eyes; worry for a member of his pack and Stiles knows, just knows, being captured by the twins had been worth it. Now, he can see the man is more then Derek Hale, menace to society. He is also the Apha of his pack, the one who constantly stepped in to save them and guide them. He gave broken teenagers a place to call home and a family to stand with._

_As Derek patched him up, Stiles realized he was kind of, maybe, sort of, in love with him._

* * *

 

Suddenly, he remembers why he had been so angry, why he had been so hurt and he’s on his feet. He knocks Allison over by accident but there is no time to pause as he hunts for his keys. His fingers tremble as he tosses things out of his way before a strong hand wraps around his wrist. He lifts his head and sees Scott, his best friend, and he’s being led from the house, the door locked with his missing keys and he’s pushed gently into their car and soon they are speeding away. He is leaning against the window, seeing everything yet taking nothing in until they are pulling up to Derek’s house. The rest of the pack tumbles out of the house and he steps out, seeing their disbelief, even a bit of betrayal as they look at Scott. The human members, they understand and they pull their mates away. He watches them leave before he’s inside, toeing off his shoes and walking forward, then upward. He stands outside the room and he listens to the lung tearing coughing within.

Slowly, he opens the door and looks in. His heart seizes at the sight before him. It’s been maybe, three weeks but it looks as though he’) been sick for months. Slowly entering, he can see Derek is asleep, restlessly so, but it is so painful to see. A sweater he’d forgotten was pressed to his face and he knows by now his scent has long since been chased away. He moved forward and thinks nothing of the fact he’s stripping out of his own shirt before he climbs in behind him. Derek was probably the one who was supposed to be the big spoon and yet at that moment, it feels completely natural for Stiles to pull him into his arms and to tuck his head under his chin. He curls his other hand into his and closes his eyes, listening as the wheezing slowly fades to a deep inhale and exhale. He can feel his clammy skin slowly return to normal and shortly after, there is the faint rumble in Derek’s chest that lulls him to sleep.

* * *

 

Waking up is a little confusing, since it takes several moments for him to remember where he is. It is further confounded by the fact he is alone with his arms wrapped around a pillow. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he can see its pitch dark out and he can hear voices, though he cannot understand what’s being said. Getting out of bed, he slides his socks back on and heads to the bathroom. Emptying his bladder and washing his hands only takes moments, but he feels like there is something wrong.

Heading down the stairs, he can hear Derek telling Scott and Allison off, sounding both miserable and angry all at once. It is the oddest combination he has ever encountered, but he continues down the stairs and sees the pack sitting there as Derek lectures them about choices. He pauses in the doorway as Derek paces back and forth. Moving forward after a few moments, he listens as Derek accuses them of taking his choices away from him.

“And what, grumpy, does it mean when I am not given the choice at all?” he demands, his voice solid. It takes a few seconds for them to realize he was there, then the Betas flee the house with their mates, leaving the two of them to speak. He stares calmly at the Alpha and continues, “I mean, it’s sweet and all that you want me to have my freedom, but where exactly did you get the brilliant idea that such freedom involved not telling me every option available?” he finishes, staring at the wolf.

For his part, Derek seems to be lost in a haze of disbelief. Stiles moves forward and reaches out, hesitating just a little, before tugging him to sit and leaning into his side. He looks up and waits, because as much as he loves to speak, he knows this is a time to listen. It takes a few minutes before Derek leans back into him, “I was afraid you’d simply… accept it and not… you’re rather stupidly selfless,” he explains, frustrated by his own lack of words.

Stiles knows Derek though, and he hears what he isn’t saying. He hears what hasn’t been said. He always knows what isn’t said, it is something he learned to do with these wolves. He sees the words in the way his eyebrows draw together and his eyes flicker around the room; they are in the tense lines of his shoulders as he tries to relax yet cannot find the ability to do so. Pushing him onto his back, knowing he’ll let him, he moves and straddles him, grabbing his arms and holding them over his head as he stares down into his eyes, “I am not her. I have no intention of hurting you or anyone you love because you know what? Unlike her, I have never bothered to really hide who I am. Sure, I’ve changed, but that’s to be expected. Above all though, I am still Stiles Stilinski. That means I am still the same person who chose to help his werewolf best friend when he was first bitten; I am still the person who stuck by you, even when you were, seemingly, trying to kill me. I still want my choices Derek, because yes, back then knowing I was your mate would’ve been terrifying, but knowing at least minimal contact kept you alive? I would’ve kept at it, even as I tried to figure things out, because that’s who I am.”

About to open his mouth to say more, he’s startled by firm lips against his own. He blinks for a second before closing his eyes and leaning down into the kiss. There is much more to learn, but this was something he’d wanted for a while now. A few moments go by before they separate. He moves his head and rests it on Derek’s shoulder, panting lightly but pleased. He desperately stops his hips from rocking against Derek’s as he holds him, before Derek gently explains the title of mate. He knows most of it, but he is surprised by several other things and he lifts his head, looking down at Derek in disbelief, “Really?” he asks before chuckling and kissing him.

It takes a while to get used to dating Derek, he has no intention of just jumping into the sack and screwing around. Derek is patient, he has to be, but he can tell there is something everyone forgot to remind Stiles about. It takes the sight of fresh green grass for him to remember how there was always a week and a half where none of the wolves and their mates are seen. Mating season has snuck up on them and Stiles shakes his head at the fact Derek didn’t even bother to mention it. Deciding on his own, he packs a few things and heads over to his house.

Parking his jeep, he heads inside, amused to see Derek is out. Stretching his arms over his head, he heads upstairs and sets his things away before stripping down and tossing all of his clothing into the laundry hamper by the door. Climbing into the bed and pulling the sheet over his body, he looked through his phone and sent messages to the pack, just to be certain they wouldn’t drop by unexpectedly. Smiling at the few replies he gets, he stretches out and turns his head as the door opens and Derek walks in.

Grinning at the look on his face, he cannot believe the lust filled expression is for him, but as Derek tugs away the sheets, he cannot help but think he could get used to it. Shortly thereafter, he isn’t thinking much of anything…


End file.
